


you're my year after year

by Enza (Zeto)



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: AU, M/M, written for a fest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-14
Updated: 2013-02-14
Packaged: 2017-11-29 05:24:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/683322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zeto/pseuds/Enza
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Because I think I was waiting for you,” he finally says, voice subdued and quiet. “That I've always been waiting for you.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	you're my year after year

**Author's Note:**

> **Beta:** we-are-the-same. ♥ Thank you for all the hand-holding, darling.  
>  Scenes in italics indicate flashbacks/memories, scenes in the future, or deja vu/premonitions. Written for the 1Dkinkfest. Non-graphic implied suicide.  
> I wanted to fit Niall into the story too but there wasn't any room. :( I'm sorry, cutie pie!

 

 

~*~*~*~

 

_“I have a bad feeling about today,” the first boy says._

_“You_ always _say that.”_

_“I know but...it just...it doesn't feel right.”_

_“What do you mean?” asked the second._

_“I'm scared.”_

_A long pause. Silence stretching out between them. The first boy finally looks up, voice quiet as blue eyes meet green._

_“Me too.”_

 

~*~

 

_i'm scared, nicola._

_i know, liam. but it's gonna be okay. we'll be okay. you're safe._

_you promise?_

_always, baby brother..._

 

~*~*~*~

 

It's the same every year. It's always the same.

He pushes past the vines covering the small hole in the brick wall, carefully treads past the overgrown garden. He's gotten very good at not leaving any visible tracks; he's done this so many times now. He imagines it was once a beautiful knot garden though, immaculately kept. It’s his favourite place. There’s a soft serenity there, something calming and soothing. But today, he’s not here for the garden. Instead, his deft fingers pry open one of the boards covering the door and he ducks inside.

It was once a gorgeous place. Even he can see that through the dust and cobwebs. Bright sunlight dances throughout the house, illuminating dust motes wafting through the air as he traces a finger along the wrought-iron banister, along the wood-panelled walls.

He carefully makes his way throughout the house, navigating over fallen debris and furniture layered in dirt and dust.

It must have been a mansion once, housing the most magnificent ballroom dances, with its crystal chandeliers scattering light and colour across the walls, the once-delicate crown moldings, edging the ceiling. If he shuts his eyes, he can hear the strains of _Traumerei_ echoing through the halls.

Parts of it are entirely unnavigable. He skips past what looks to be the kitchen, a blackened mess, burnt almost beyond recognition.

There's something in the air. A strange stillness that echoes in his head, an underlying current that seems to electrify the house. It makes his skin prickle, goosebumps dancing along the surface, though he's not scared.

He moves through the hallway, towards the part of the mansion that once would have been known as the East Wing. It's where the bedrooms are all located. It's always where he finds himself drawn to, like a magnet drawn to north, like a butterfly to the flame.

He pushes the door open and it's the same as always, it's exactly what he expected. He doesn't know why he'd thought it would have been any different.

The curling wallpaper remains the same. The layer of dust, the grime that scatters the rays of light filtering in through the windows.

There's never anyone here. No one except him and--

“Who are you?” a voice demands and he whirls around.

It's a boy, about his age. With brown eyes and brown hair and small mark on his neck, like some sort of birthmark.

“You don't remember, do you?” he says instead.

“Remember what?” he asks, eyes narrowing.

The hazel-eyed youth smiles but it's wistful, sad. “Liam.”

“You know my name.”

“I--yeah. You've told me before. Your name is Liam Payne. Your middle name is James. You're sixteen. You like the colour purple, the actual shade. Not the movie or book. You have two pet turtles and you told me once that you wanted to be a firefighter.”

“How do you know all this?” Liam is certain he's never met this boy in his life. He's sure he would remember him, with a face like that. All dark hair and dark eyes that seem almost golden in the right light. All soft lips, curved up in a smile that's altogether too sad, too melancholic. “This is my house. You're trespassing, so you better leave.”

“I told you. You've told me this before. You never remember. You never remember me but I remember you.”

“That's impossible. I've never seen you here before in my life,” Liam insists, his eyes darkening. “Now let me ask you again. _Who are you?_ ”

“My name's Zayn. And I've been here every single day. Looking for you. But you're never around. Except...today.”

“And what's today?”

“You know, I did some research. I couldn't figure out why, for months, that I'd never see you. Except for today. Every single day, for the past five years I've been coming here. And only today, always today. I finally figured it out.”

“What. Is. Today.” Liam is angry, perhaps a little too angry. The emotion is strong, overwhelming, hiding the underlying coat of fear tinging his words.

“It's your birthday and...” Zayn trails off, swallowing hard.

The words stop Liam in his tracks.

And it's like glass shattering. It's sudden, sharp and everything comes rushing back. And he remembers.

Everything.

With dizzying, frightening clarity.

The taller boy pales, his skin losing all colour, turning grey, waxy. His eyes dull, losing the fire in them and it frightens Zayn.

“My birthday. I turned sixteen. We went out that day, to the fair. I got to eat whatever I wanted, almost made myself sick on cotton candy. And my mom and dad bought me a new bike. There was a cake. It was the biggest one I'd ever seen,” he says numbly, drawing out long-forgotten memories. “We all stayed up late that night, even though we were all tired from the rides and junk food.”

Zayn nods but doesn't say anything, eyes never once leaving Liam's face.

“I remember waking up from my sleep because it was hot. There was a fire,” he says instead, softly, so softly it's like a whisper. “It was hot, I remember it was so very hot.”

“And I remember, there were screams and shouts, and I heard someone. My sister, she was there. I was scared, but she said I'd be safe. Then someone else was there. I think it was a firefighter, I think he was there to rescue me.”

They put out the fire, quelched the flames' thirst. And I remember someone carrying me out. And then I shut my eyes. And that was it.”

There's a quiet sort of resignation in his voice.

It makes Zayn's heart ache, makes him want to reach out and pull the other boy into his arms. “I'm sorry,” he finally whispers.

“Why? It's not your fault that I...”

_Died. That I'm dead._

The words remain unspoken but they can both hear it, without having to say a single thing.

“Because...if I'd never come here in the first place...”

“Then I'd never know. I'd be stuck here, never knowing.”

“Wouldn't that be better?”

Liam shakes his head after a long pause. “No.”

“Why not?”

A restless sort of quiet that grows between them. Zayn thinks that maybe Liam isn’t going to answer. He’s sure that he wouldn’t have one if the question were presented to him.

“Because I think I was waiting for you,” he finally says, voice subdued and quiet. “That I've always been waiting for you.”

“Even though you can’t even remember me? Year after year?” Zayn says, voice wavering with the barest hint of a tremble.

 

~*~*~*~

 

_The phone rings._

_“Hello?”_

_“Hey Lou,” comes the soft voice._

_“It’s been a while.”_

_“Yeah, it has.”_

_“...I’ve missed you.”_

_“I’ve missed you too, Lou.”_

_They both speak up at the same time, the words falling on top of one another, “I was just thinking--” “Hey, do you remember--”_

_They both laugh. It fades into a familiar silence, as if it hasn’t been years, as if nothing has changed._

_“Go on, Haz.”_

_“Do...do you remember when we were kids and we’d always sneak into Moseley Old Hall?”_

_“Yeah. It was always kind of scary to me, but you and Zayn always liked it.”_

_“But we stopped going in the last few years, you and I,” Harry said, softly._

_“I couldn’t. I just...after Zayn..”_

_“I know, Lou. I...it was the same for me...but I was back home a couple of weeks ago, just for a few days and Gemma told me they’re thinking about tearing that place down.”_

_“Good. Never did like that place.”_

_“So I went by it, just for one last look. And it still looks exactly the same, even after all these years,” Harry said with a quiet laugh. “Even the tree with our names carved on it. And I was sitting in the garden when I heard a couple of people laughing. But there was no one around. There never is.”_

_“What are you saying, Haz?” Lou whispers._

_“It sounded like two boys. Teenagers. It sounded like...Zayn.”_

_“How can you say that?_ Why _would you--”_

_“No, Lou, I swear, I’m not making it up. I wouldn’t. Not about this,” he pleads._

_“I...I know you wouldn’t, Haz. Did you see anything?” he finally works up the courage to ask, swallowing the sudden lump in his throat._

_“I...I’m not sure but I think I saw Zayn at the other end of the garden. He...he was holding hands with another boy.”_

_“Did he look happy?”_

_“Yeah.”_

_Harry remembers. He recalls the overgrown garden. The gravel crunching beneath his shoes. He remembers looking across the hedges, through the foggy, early evening mist and seeing Zayn. He remembers his heartbeat, pounding in his chest like a drum, hearing his blood rush through his ears._

_He thinks back on that moment, on breathing out his friend’s name, almost soundless on his lips, and how the other boy had looked up as if he’d heard him utter it, as if he'd heard him even with all that space and distance between them. Looked straight into his eyes, a soft smile curling at his lips, a happy warmth illuminating those eyes, those hazel eyes he hadn’t seen in years but had never once forgotten._

_“He did.”_

 

 

END.


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